


something like but not exactly

by dictionarysays



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M, it's a real ot3, yes that's right beanie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dictionarysays/pseuds/dictionarysays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimura can’t explain it, but he feels twenty again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something like but not exactly

 

Kimura has no idea what’s on Nakai’s mind when he bursts into his dressing room, still in his on-camera clothes as Kimura finishes pulling on his tee shirt from home (it’s fitting and there’s now a silver guitar all over his chest). He doesn’t turn around but he catches the range of emotions that flit across Nakai’s face as he looks everywhere but at him through the big mirror; he smiles a little, he knows Nakai will talk when he’s ready to.

It’s later than the staff had predicted before they’d finally been able to finish tonight’s recording. By the time Goro and him had won during Bistro, Kimura was all but ready to jump out of his costume and go home where he’d probably lounge in the bath until his skin turned into a prune. Everybody was tired, even Shingo had been yawning between breaks and Tsuyoshi had been the one talking animatedly beside him, working hard to keep the youngest member awake. Kimura hadn’t said a word of complaint though, working passionately on his dishes alongside Goro as Nakai’s raspy voice floated down, clearly keeping the guest amused if the tinkles of laughter meant anything (Kimura had never been surprised even in the beginning, years ago, when Nakai would stay bent over the script late into the night, mumbling under his breath and practicing his soul out).

“I need you to do me a favour.” Nakai’s voice is low and almost rushed, Kimura nearly misses it but he quirks an eyebrow, turning partially to stare at the older if not shorter man—Nakai realizes how strange the sentence is and shrugs half heartedly, it’s really just a messy shake of his shoulders.

“What’s up?” He goes to move forward, close some of the distance between them because this is the last thing he’d expect from him, but it’s as if Nakai knows and he plops himself down on the arm of the couch, staring down at his knees. Kimura simply crosses his arms then, worried.  

“You have to promise you won’t ask me why— _so_ , just say yes.” Nakai’s looking up and Kimura can’t explain it, but he feels twenty again and the way Nakai shuffles his way off the arm and down into the couch; he can’t help but follow and sit down on the cushion beside him.

It gets quiet and it might have something to do with the fact Nakai had shut the door after coming in unannounced, but Kimura thinks there’s more to it than that. He brings his legs up comfortably, manoeuvring them underneath him and resisting the urge to pull Nakai’s hideous beanie off his head and smack his face with it because he shouldn’t have such a scared look on his face and since  _when_  have they not been able to talk to each other?

Kimura knows he’s not able to say anything but so he says, “Yes,” and a little of the tension around Nakai’s eyes is gone. It’ll have to do for now.

“Kiss me.” Nakai’s voice is the clearest it’s been this whole time and Kimura’s eyes widen, he even manages a thin laugh.

“What?” Kimura replies, dazed.

“Seriously? You’re deaf?  _Kiss me_ , Kimura.” Nakai says, exasperated and rolling his eyes. A lot more of the Nakai Kimura’s used to shows through and he’s surprised—he thought if anything, he’d be less him right about now. But he guesses not and settles with staring Nakai down.

He’s unflinching and his mouth is really taut, Nakai’s not as exasperated as he wants to be and he’s probably the more uncomfortable of the two. Kimura can’t decide if Nakai’s crazy or stupid, but he  _does_  know he only has one life to live and if Nakai can go so far as to asking him for a favour, well, then he can probably kiss him too.

Kimura twists himself closer, their knees bump and he doesn’t miss the cringe Nakai gives up and now he’s thoroughly confused. He wants to know but Nakai’s as stubborn as a bull and this could go on forever but if a kiss is all he wants, who’s Kimura to say no? He’s a lot, he knows this, always has, they’ve been through thick and thin to get where they are and there’s still so much more they want to do if the determination thrumming through their aching thighs when they perform live has anything to say about it—but at the end of the day, this is probably something only Nakai would ask of him and it takes a strange amount of guts to go about this, so Kimura’s here for him, like he’s always been.  

 “Just, come ‘ere.” Kimura manually pulls Nakai a little bit closer, grabbing at the sides of his jeans, while he hops to get his knees in between Nakai’s now and everything about the way Nakai’s sitting—he wants to bolt. “You’re terrified,” he says this needlessly and Nakai’s suddenly smacking the side of Kimura’s head and blowing a loud puff of air.

“Uh, no shit.” He grabs for his knees, pulling at the material, one hand going up to tug at his beanie. “Do it and get it over and done with.”

“Mm.” Kimura can’t stand it anymore and he pulls Nakai’s beanie completely off, stuffing it under the cushion; all Nakai can do is shout and frown simultaneously, trying to stifle a pout. Kimura grins, “I don’t kiss people who look like they have a mole rat on their head.”

"Do it  _now_ ,” Nakai murmurs, shaking his knees and staring up at the ceiling. “Before I regret this.”

“You should close your eyes,” Kimura suggests.

 Nakai clamps his eyes shut and tightens his grip on his knees.

 Kimura looks him over. “Stay like that.”

Nakai’s biting his lip and looking so nervous, Kimura’s never seen him like this and it claws at his gut. He’s never been so careful before and that’s what Kimura convinces himself is his motivation when he sits up on his knees and leans forward, towards him, letting his forehead touch Nakai’s—something familiar, because they’ve done this before—and Nakai still jumps at the contact. Kimura takes it slow, there’s no way he’s going to kiss him right away, not until Nakai can calm down. The forced breathes slipping between Nakai’s lips as Kimura traces his hairline with his forehead and gradually ends at the curve of his jaw are telling. He presses his lips to the warm skin right beside his chin, already expecting Nakai’s jump, he lets his arms hang around his thin shoulders, supporting him more than he’s keeping him still. Nakai’s slumped over just a bit.

“ _You_.” Nakai breathes. “Stop stalling.”

Kimura doesn’t reply; he lets go of a breath as he kisses Nakai’s jaw line up to his ear and down around his neck, blowing at the little tufts of hair in his way. Nakai inhales sharply, clutching at his knees again, physically shaking. He swears under his breath. “ _Do it_ , Takuya.”

He holds Nakai firmly by the shoulders, letting his fingers slip into the space between his arms and back. Kimura tilts his head to kiss along Nakai’s throat and up towards his chin, where Nakai meets him halfway and gasps when their lips touch. Kimura stays completely still, he doesn’t dare move; it’s up to Nakai to do what he wants with this. Kimura, on the other hand, is trying to wrap his head around not only the smooth stretch of Nakai’s skin but how much of a girl Nakai really is (he’s suddenly reminded of Mako-chan, he hasn’t thought about the skit in years).        

After a moment, Nakai’s lips suddenly pull back from Kimura’s. Then they return. Over and over again. Nakai grabs at the front of Kimura’s shirt, feebly, the whole thing is rushed—it takes him two whole tries until he gets his fingers twined into the material and lets his tongue brush Kimura’s lower lip. Kimura’s caught off guard, more by the flip of want churning in his chest than the way Nakai takes control and sticks his tongue in his mouth.

“What’s a guy gotta’ do to get a little tongue around here?” Nakai smirks more than he says this, somehow murmuring into Kimura’s mouth, through their tongues and teeth.

Kimura shivers and Nakai deepens the kiss with far too much ease; he jerks Kimura close with one tug, his hands still wrapped in his shirt—Kimura can’t stifle a low groan and he cups his leader’s face, pinkies circling the patch of skin right below Nakai’s ears. He still has no clue what all of this is about and what he’s trying to prove but with the way Nakai’s little moan sounds in the back of his throat, as rough as Kimura figured it would be (Kimura doesn’t dwell on the fact he  _has_  wondered about what it would sound like—that’s something for another day); the noise manages to lodge itself in his veins and race through him pleasantly.

A few more minutes pass just like this, where eventually Nakai’s halfway up in Kimura’s lap and Kimura’s trying to steady the both of them, still up on his knees—he lets his hands run through Nakai’s hair like that’s where he’s going to find his balance (they’ve only pulled apart twice, once to breathe, which Nakai thought was overrated; and another time to laugh out loud because Nakai had mewled when Kimura danced his fingers across his waist).

“Hey... “ Kimura mumbles, easing his face away from the other man’s, who doesn’t seem to approve if the frown crested between his brows says anything—but he likes to think the uncharacteristic flush of Nakai’s cheeks says more, so all he does his grin. “What was that about? And don’t say nothing or no.” Kimura quickly cuts Nakai off, pinching his nose, trying to both comfort and threaten the older man at the same time.

Nakai’s quiet though, he looks down, trying to reach under Kimura’s cushion, looking for his beanie. Kimura lets him, watching him pull the beanie back over his mussed hair and licking his lips silently—he can’t quite get a handle on all of this. For one, Kimura liked it, he’s not about to deny that and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. The make-out session just now can’t be overlooked, but on the other hand, why in the first place? What was Nakai looking for? Did he find it?

Kimura bites at the inside of his cheek.

“I liked it, you know. I liked that—what we just did.” Nakai’s eyes are a little wide at Kimura’s admission, but he has nothing to hide and there’s no doubt in his mind that Nakai feels the same.

“Oh.” Kimura stares, waiting for more. Nakai stuffs his hands between his legs, cracking his knuckles. Kimura has nothing else to say, he’s not only done but said his part too—the ball’s in Nakai’s court. “It was weird, but I mean, not bad weird. Just—different. You eat rice?”

“Had onigiri during our break, yeah.”

“I thought I tasted it.” If Kimura weren’t staring, he would’ve missed the sheepish flush of pink that worms its way up Nakai’s neck when he says that. It makes him laugh a little under his breath before he grabs for Nakai’s wrist, holding it still. Nakai looks up, confused, but the browns of his eyes flash in weary understanding and he knows Kimura’s not playing around.

 “We’ve never kissed, you and I. At least, at least not seriously.” Nakai’s voice is quick and low, but Kimura lets his hand trace down from his wrist to his fingers and squeezes his index reassuringly. “Sure, there’s been bistro and some lives, but—you’ve kissed Shingo before. Tsuyoshi  _too_. I don’t even wanna’ know what you and Goro’ve done.” He’s not finished, Kimura can tell, but the past whirs behind his eyes and quick little instants of kisses on the cheek, forced pecks on one another’s mouths and that one time Kimura had licked Nakai’s neck when they were over at his without any warning is all he sees. Nakai pulls a small breath, his free hand fiddling with the bump of his beanie before he continues. “So, it’s like, why? I mean, you know, we’re close—all right, I admit, maybe not as close as when we were young, but the history counts for something. You’ve been to my house, I've been to yours; we even went on double dates in high school. So why?”

Kimura hates the way his stomach turns in on itself, and all because of the way Nakai’s looking at him right now, as if Kimura’s been in the wrong all this time and he should magically fix it—he never meant to.

“I never meant to. You know, it’s harder to kiss you than you’d think—you’re not exactly the most willing of the bunch.” Nakai makes a face at that and for a split second, Kimura’s the happiest he’s ever been because it means he doesn’t hate him and maybe it’s not  _entirely_  his fault and his legs are irrevocably numb after all this time. “I didn’t think you’d want to, you never said anything—“

“I did  _now_ —“

“Exactly.  _Now_ ; and after how long? Believe it or not, I can’t actually read minds.” Kimura chuckles but Nakai’s not laughing. He should be.

He sighs instead, pulling his hand out of Kimura’s, mumbling, “But you’re Kimura Takuya. If anyone can—it’s you.”

That’s when Kimura gets fed up, he pulls away completely, dislodging his legs from underneath him and trying to ignore the pins and needles in his thighs as he gets up, going for his bag.

“Kimura... ?”

He doesn’t turn to look, his lips tingling as he quickly applies chapstick (mostly because he’s trying to replace the feel of Nakai’s lips and not because the lip balm’s that good) and slings his bag across his arm. “When you stop being an idiot we can talk. Until then, I’m going home.”

Kimura knows he can’t avoid him as he tries to leave, so he doesn’t, he sends him a look and he nearly stops, nearly  _fucks it all_  and returns to the cushion beside a Nakai who’s chewing on his lower lip and looking like the too-young leader who’d taken everything on his shoulders when none of them had known any better. But he doesn’t.

He keeps going, past the studio lobby and out the entrance where his van’s waiting.

 

 

The next morning is more meeting than it is recording; Kimura skims through the itinerary as he plays with his yogurt, eating it slowly, savouring the bits of fruit.

For the better part of last night he’d been awake, mulling over things, playing with the bottom of his jeans—he still hadn’t figured it out. Nothing Nakai had said had been wrong, he was right; they’d never kissed, at least, not the kind he was looking for. Kimura noticed it, it was hard not to throughout the years when Shingo was coming to him for practice, something about Tsuyopon being too awkward; while Tsuyoshi on the other hand was admirably shy about the whole thing so when they kissed, it was never planned; and then there were those really long breaks that Kimura wished would turn longer as he held Goro close, not wanting to leave the custodian’s closet just yet, letting their hips touch.

Kimura likes to believe they're close, it’s hard not to be when he’s spent more than half his life with these men—so the kissing and touching felt inevitable. They were curious, growing in front of one another’s eyes, it only made sense that their questions would come in the form of the hesitant press of lips and the shaking whisper of hands on anything they could reach.

Nakai was always grumbling about fan service, he believed in not believing in it but Kimura had tried all the same; arms slung over skinny shoulders was all right and a hug could get by if he saw it coming. Nakai dreaded kisses, the older they got the more they seemed to terrify him, but for the sake of all that was entertaining—they’d traded a few, mostly on the cheek, rarely on the lips (those had been quick and meticulously planned before the recordings—‘ _I initiate it this time, Kimura, just—don’t move, it’ll be like ripping off a bandage_ ’).

Now they were in their thirties—they were almost forty and the physical affection between the two was dwindling. Kimura expected it, he tries not to think about it most days and makes do with the laughs they still share and the snug ease that stretches between the two.

Kimura’s still thinking about SMAP when someone pulls up a chair beside him and he lets out a sigh of relief when he looks and it’s Goro. He smiles briefly, wrapped in a thin coat and blowing into his hands—outside is cold, probably colder than Goro had dressed for.

“Hey,” Kimura puts the itinerary down, focusing on his yogurt and Goro now.

“Hi. You’re early; I thought I’d be the first one here.” Kimura shrugs at that, he doesn’t feel like telling him he couldn’t stay any longer in his house, filled with thoughts he wasn’t the day before. “I saw Shingo and Tsuyoshi up front.”

“Mm.” He eats another spoon of the vanilla yogurt, pushing his still hot cup of coffee into Goro’s freezing hands. “Hold this, rubbing won’t do anything.”

“ _Ah_. Thanks.” Goro smiles sheepishly, almost shyly and Kimura grins, picking at a strawberry—this time of the day is when he loves Goro the most because he’s still soft at the edges and the state of his hair is the last thing on his mind.

After a couple more minutes, Shingo drags himself in, Tsuyoshi on his tail; they’re sharing a bagel and talking about something ridiculous (the sleepy maniacal grin all over Shingo’s face gives it away). After a few more, Nakai’s still not in and Kimura frowns, taking a peek at Shingo’s iPhone—he’s late, he’s never usually.

“I’m gonna’ go up front, see if he’s here.” Kimura’s up and gone before the others can nod; Goro swats Shingo with the itinerary when he tries to steal Kimura’s seat.

Kimura stalks down the hallway, making it to the front-lobby in record time where he finds a haggard-looking Nakai arguing with their manager. He’s not close enough to hear the entire conversation but he catches phrases like ‘ _Just this once_ ’ and ‘ _I really,_ really _shouldn’t go in there_ ’.

Kimura doesn’t realize it until his fists are unclenched and he’s pulling Nakai away and into the closest thing he can find, the staff women’s washroom (which he somehow remembers to lock), that he’s mad and knows  _exactly_  what Nakai was arguing about. He doesn’t overlook the frustrated twist in his gut when he slams Nakai into the closed door but he  _does_ look right through Nakai's flustered glare and keeps him still when he tries to twist away.

“ _What_  the  _fuck_!” Nakai’s voice is too hoarse and if this were any other day, Kimura would rummage around in his bag until he found some cough drops and force feed them to the older man, but for today, at this very moment, he doesn’t care (he actually does but if he lets up, this won’t go anywhere and he needs this to go somewhere, he needs  _them_  to go anywhere but back).

“You trying to avoid me? Seriously?  What are you,  _six_?” Kimura’s angry and his hands hold Nakai’s shoulders tighter, pushing him back, fingers slipping into a stronger hold. He wishes he weren’t seeing red and he wishes even more that his heart wouldn’t race so fast. “That’s fucked, Masahiro.  _You_ —I’d never expect that, not from you. I thought you were going to stop being an idiot.”

Nakai’s shaking beneath his hands and his trucker cap is all askew on his head; Kimura looks down, sighing deeply, focusing on Nakai’s tiny feet, anything but his face. Nothing happens (the vent hums, one of the sinks keeps dripping, there’s rustling outside the door and Nakai’s panting, he probably is too).    

“I was scared. Okay?” Kimura’s head shoots up, watching Nakai closely, his mouth bowed in shame, eyebrows knit in embarrassment. Kimura nudges Nakai’s sneaker with his own, his throat’s still bubbling with anger, but he needs to hear this too. “It’s not like you can blame me—just last night, you were  _pissed_. I don’t even know what I did wrong.” Nakai pushes up at him suddenly, catching him unawares and Kimura stumbles back, letting go, but Nakai doesn’t run away like he thought he would. He stays by the door, massaging the sore slope of his shoulder, wincing. “Couldn’t have held on tighter?  _Shit_. I’m old, you know.”

All Kimura can do is stare, brushing the hair out of his face, he looks Nakai over and he seems so small, he almost wants to apologize but he’s not good at that type of thing, so he stays quiet instead.

“So.  _Yeah_. I thought about it last night and I think—no, I want us to kiss more,” Kimura doesn’t mean for his eyebrows to raise but they do and Nakai laughs, all raspy, at the surprised look that must be written all over his face. He doesn’t mind if that means Nakai will be a little less mad and a little more better (later, Kimura will pass Nakai a newly-bought package of cough drops between rehearsals like he didn’t just buy it on his break that says  _I’m_ sorry and Nakai will roll his eyes in a way that says all too clearly  _We’re okay_ ). “I’m not saying I’m gonna’ let you start kissing me on TV or anything, but—dressing rooms should be okay.”

Nakai grins and smiles at the same time, and Kimura thinks it’s his laugh lines, but he’s too busy moving in and kissing Nakai (who's fumbling with his cap), that he can’t grin back but he’s sure Nakai gets the gist. 

 


End file.
